


On My Right Hand

by Multiple_Universes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Fluff, Heavy Angst, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/pseuds/Multiple_Universes
Summary: Victor is the living legend of figure skating. He is good at what he does. He has parents that love him and a coach that respects him (most of the time). So why does he feel so empty inside? Why does it feel like something important is missing? What could it possibly be? And why does he keep looking at his right hand?





	On My Right Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chrisgarci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisgarci/gifts).



> I wrote this fic for chrisgarci, who was the second of two winners of my fic giveaway. The prompt I got was [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAEF9m_-TLU) and I sort of went wild with it. I think this giveaway (and the other one) are proof that when I say “500 or 1000 words”, I really mean 2k-5k words. Hopefully no one has an issue with that.

It was a bleak morning with no promise of anything good. The sun hid away behind a cloudy sky and something that could’ve been snow or could’ve been rain drizzled down onto the city below.

Victor left his apartment and headed for the metro without really thinking about it. After so many years of commuting between his house and his skating rink he could get there in his sleep. Sometimes he feared that one day he _would_ get there in his sleep, that one day he would wake up to realize that he’d gotten up in the middle of the night to get on the metro and arrived at his training rink in his pajamas.

This time he arrived before his coach and went out onto the ice to start without him.

It was another day of practice just like the ones before. Nothing extraordinary happened and when he went home to be greeted by Makkachin he didn’t think much about it.

It was another bleak morning…

And another…

And another…

After a week of bleak mornings and still no sun Victor started to feel the weather get to him. But wasn’t it always this way in the winter months? Bleak days. Short days. Long nights.

And every day felt the same.

He stared out the window. It was raining, he was sure of it now. Raining every day without stopping.

_As if all of nature was crying._

What a fanciful thought! Why would nature cry?

Three more identical days went by.

Empty. He felt so empty.

Why?

He looked at his hands. Why was he staring at his hands? Why did he expect the answer there? They were his hands and he knew them well: four long fingers and a thumb.

Why was there an emptiness in his chest?

Why did it feel like he was missing something?

What could he be missing?

He puzzled over this on his way to practice.

Practice was gruelling, taking everything out of him, making him forget everything he’d thought about in the morning.

But evening came and he was home again and on the phone with his mother.

“Sometimes I feel like…” he suddenly said and froze, realizing that he’d accidentally spoken his thoughts aloud.

“Like what, Viten’ka?” his mother asked.

“Like… like I’m missing something. But I win every competition. What am I missing?”

His mother was silent. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a while.

_I thought you’d have the answer. You always have the answer to all my questions._ He suppressed the urge to sigh.

“You’ll work it out,” she told him. “I’m sure you will.”

He hung up and stared at his right hand again.

_I’m the top figure skater in the world. What could I be missing?_

Makkachin came up to him and got up on his hind legs, placing his front paws on Victor’s legs.

Victor smiled and pet his dog. “Do you know what it is, Makkachin?”

Makkachin barked and licked his face, making Victor laugh.

And then he froze.

When was the last time he laughed? Yesterday, right? Or the day before that? Definitely sometime this week!

He went to the kitchen to make dinner. And stared at his right hand again.

Something was missing. _Something that was usually on his right hand._ What could it be?

What did people usually have on their hands? Gloves? Did he usually wear gloves? When it was cold, yes, but no, no it wasn’t gloves.

He slid his left hand over his right. He could almost feel it.

Right hand. It was something on his _right_ hand. What was it?

He could feel it on… only on one finger.

He closed his eyes and let his hands move with as little thought from him as possible. He felt around with two fingers, his thumb and his middle finger.

It was a _ring_. He usually wore a ring.

Victor opened his eyes and stared down at his hand. He usually wore a ring _on his ring finger._

Did he lose it?

No, no that was the wrong question.

Why did people wear rings on the ring fingers of their right hand? Fashion? No. No, he was… he was…

The next word came with a big tangle of emotions that he tried to work out and gave up. He was… _married_.

And there it was.

He could feel the joy and excitement bubble through him at that word. He closed his eyes again and a memory, no a ghost of a memory passed through him. And he could name more feelings now.

 

_I’m so excited and so nervous! I’m afraid of getting it all wrong! I want it over with! I want it to happen already! I want it to go on forever! I want it to never come! I’m not… I’m not ready!_

 

He could feel the nervousness from that time.

What time?

_The morning of the wedding._

Something inside him trembled.

 

_“But what if I get it all wrong? What if I mess it all up and say the wrong thing?” he said._

_“You won’t.”_

_“How do you know that?”_

_“Because I have faith in you.”_

He couldn’t remember the sound of the other voice. Not quite. Almost, but not quite.

Who was it? It must’ve been someone important. It had to be. But why couldn’t he remember?

The phone rang and Victor answered it.

“Victor, how are you doing?” It was Chris. His best friend, Chris.

He would know if Victor was married, but could Victor ask him a question like that? Chris would only laugh and tease him. He’d never stop teasing.

Victor did his best to keep their conversation as short as possible. He _needed_ to know the answer.

Once he finally hung up he puzzled over it.

It must’ve been the voice of the person he was married to. It had to be. Why couldn’t he remember how it sounded?

 

_“I know you said it before and… well, I wasn’t sure, if we’d agreed on it formally. So I want to be absolutely sure. I am serious about this and I want you to know that. I want to marry you, Victor. Will you marry me?”_

 

He put his hands on his face. “Yes,” he whispered.

And then, as if whatever had been blocking it all from his mind was suddenly gone, he could remember everything, every little detail.

 

_It was a sunny day without a single cloud in the sky. Of course it was: Victor Nikiforov was marrying Yuuri Katsuki._

_Victor opened his eyes and there was Yuuri: lying next to him, eyes open and a smile on his face._

_“Good morning,” Victor whispered. “I love you.”_

_Yuuri took his hand and held it to his lips. “I love you, too.”_

_He pulled Yuuri close to his chest. “Today I will become all yours.”_

_“I’ve always been all yours,” Yuuri told him._

_Victor laughed. “So have I.”_

_He could feel Yuuri press against him, his hands wrapped around him, the man’s fingers trailing over his skin. He could smell Yuuri, although he had no words to describe the smell itself. He listened to the sound of Yuuri’s voice._

_Yes, this was the only person he would give himself over to so completely, without holding back. This was the only person he trusted with all of himself, all his little secrets._

Victor dropped into a chair. He could remember the feel of their wedding kiss. He could remember every little detail of their wedding. Yuuri and he arriving together. The smile on Yuuri’s face. The smile on his own. The softness in his husband’s eyes.

His hands were still on his face.

Where was he? Where was Yuuri Katsuki, his husband?

Why wasn’t he wearing his ring anymore? He could _feel_ it there, but it _wasn’t_ there. Why?

What happened after the wedding? Where was Yuuri? And why couldn’t he remember?

He tried to remember. He thought of everything that had followed the wedding: the honeymoon, the season when they competed against each other and how _odd_ it felt, the…

What happened?

He was terrified. He could feel his whole body shake and threw his arms around himself.

Victor got up and paced the room. He went to the living room and switched the TV on.

He couldn’t think about it. He just couldn’t. It was too frightening, too _painful._

There was an odd movie on TV and he found himself watching it, unable to tear his eyes away. He could switch the channel, but he didn’t want to.

A group of doctors was operating on the patient. They were serious and didn’t shout anything like they usually did in the movies.

“His heart rate is slowing down,” one of the doctors said.

Victor’s own beat faster.

They said words after that, but they were foreign to Victor, as if they were speaking a completely different language. Or maybe they _were_ speaking in a different language?

It was so hard to think. So hard to focus.

His head was spinning.

He thought about Yuuri instead. He remembered a date over ice cream. He thought about Yuuri’s skating.

_Skating_. A pain went through him at that word. It was something about skating, wasn’t it?

Where was Yuuri? It was getting late. He had to come home soon.

Victor got up and then dropped back onto the chair. He was so tired. He’d worn himself out during practice.

Where was Yuuri? He should be here. He should be with Victor. He should be holding him close, telling him how his day went, or saying nothing at all, or reminding Victor how much he loved him. He should be here.

Tears poured down Victor’s face. He put his hands over it again.

Hands.

Where was his ring? Why wasn’t he wearing it?

He got up and returned to the bedroom. It wasn’t there.

Did he lose it? Where did it go? Where was it? Where could it be? He searched everywhere for it. He even crawled under the bed. But it wasn’t anywhere.

_The bed_.

He got up and stared at it.

Didn’t they buy a bigger one when Yuuri moved in with him? But this was the small one he used to have before.

He dropped onto it now and hugged himself.

Where was Yuuri? What had happened to him? Why couldn’t he remember?

He was so tired. He wanted to sleep and not think about this anymore. He wanted to think about the good times they’d had.

_Yes, it’s too much. I’ll just sleep for now. It will make sense tomorrow. I’ll… I’ll remember tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Or the day… Or I’ll ask someone… I can ask Yakov. He will know. He should know._

He was so tired. So very tired. He could just rest. Rest and not think about anything. Not worry about anything. He could sleep. Sleep was good.

He could sleep forever.

What was that annoying noise? Sounded like… knocking. Someone was knocking on something. A door. _His_ door.

“Victor!” someone shouted, but the voice was far away.

_Go away,_ he thought, too weak to say the words aloud. _I don’t want anything. I just want to be left alone. Just… Just leave me alone…_

“Victor.”

Who was it? Who wouldn’t leave him alone?

He was lying on the bed with his eyes closed.

He knew that voice. He knew it. Who was it?

“Victor.” It came like a heartbeat. Two syllables. Vic-tor.

“Victor!”

He forced his eyes to open. The room was dark. Someone was knocking on the door and screaming.

“Why are you screaming?” he whispered. “The door is open. It’s always open.”

He closed his eyes again and turned over.

“Victor.”

“Just come in, if you’re so desperate,” he said, feeling irritated. He shook his lethargy off and sat up, angry with himself, and the world, and especially with the owner of that voice for not leaving him alone. “Come in! What do you want?”

The door swung open.

It was dark beyond it. Very dark.

“Victor,” a voice called softly.

“Yuuri,” he whispered. “Yuuri, please…”

A figure stepped out of the darkness. And it _was_ Yuuri. Yuuri, as he’d been the day they’d married: in a white tuxedo, his hair slicked back and the ring gleaming on his finger. There was a big smile on his face. “Victor!”

The room filled with light, as if the sun had suddenly come up and shone in through Victor’s window. But his eyes were glued to Yuuri’s face. He found himself unable to tear them away to check.

Yuuri came up to him and held out his hands. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Waiting for you,” Victor whispered, still sitting on the bed.

“And here I am now. Come on. It’s time to leave.”

“Leave?” he echoed.

Yuuri took Victor’s hands. “Yes. Don’t you want to leave?”

Victor gripped Yuuri’s hands. “I do,” he said emphatically. “ _I do_.”

 

Victor opened his eyes.

There was a white ceiling above him. He lay under a layer of blankets. Something was attached to his face and something else to his arm. There was a weight on his chest.

He lowered his eyes. Someone was asleep on his chest. No, not someone, Yuuri, _his_ _Yuuri_.

“Yuuri,” he murmured. Was that really his voice?

Yuuri sat up with a look of surprise on his face. “Oh, Victor!” he exclaimed and dropped his face onto Victor’s chest, sobs shaking his whole body.

“Where am I?” Victor asked. “What happened?”

A door opened and more people came in.

But Victor didn’t look at any of them. Yuuri raised his head again and Victor saw the dark circles under his eyes. He saw the pain and exhaustion and he knew that somehow he’d caused all that.

And his whole body ached, especially his heart.

“What happened?” he asked as someone took whatever was on his mouth off.

“You were in an accident,” someone said. “How much do you remember?”

He tried to remember something, but his mind dug up a different memory instead. He tried to move, but found that he couldn’t. “Yuuri?” he said.

“Yes?”

“Yuuri, am I still wearing my wedding ring? I can’t move my arm to check.”

Yuuri raised his right hand to show it. “You are,” he whispered and kissed his hand. Tears rolled down his face.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Victor exclaimed, smiling. “I was afraid I’d lost it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos and comments!


End file.
